Old Newell’s Ten Point Hangover Guide

In an attempt to assist our readers with their holiday imbibing we reprint with the writer’s kind permission OLD NEWELL’S TEN POINT HANGOVER GUIDE – as compiled by singer-songwriter, poet, columnist and author Martin Newell. His latest album, The Last Boy in the Locarno – with his band The Cleaners from Venus – is a honeyed slice of tear-stained, lo-fi, psychedelia that leaves one hungry for more. You can ask him questions about being a pop genius at his facebook page.

OLD NEWELL’S TEN POINT HANGOVER GUIDE

1/10 Vague fuzziness. Hard to distinguish from normal bad morning.

2/10 More fuzzy. Need to drink orange. Very slight aching at back of head.

4/10 As above but slightly more so. Takes bike ride to cure. Gone by 11 O’clock.

5/10 Need a pint of tea and an Anadin. Unwise to smoke straight away. Gone by lunchtime.

6/10 A burning desire to kill Chris Evans upon switching on the radio. Raging thirst. Innards twitchy. Hate telephone. Takes about an hour to get going. Still hanging around after lunch. Don’t smoke till ten a.m.

7/10 The last stage where it is dealable with. Two Anadin required. Dog puts own safety in danger by barking. Strenuous excercise required but hard to commence. Writing possible but slow. Speech halting and resentful. Needs a pint at five O’clock.

8/10 Ooohh. Painkillers must be taken with dry bread and a pint of water before getting out of bed. Dog now out of danger when barking, because violent movement is impossible. Small light chores possible by lunchtime. Don’t stray too far from toilet before midday. Civilised speech possible by 1.pm. Best have a pint of Stella or a port and brandy as soon as well enough to walk. No smoking until half way down Stella.

9/10 Phone for help. Lying in bed imagining cancer. Can’t eat. Dog sniffs worriedly round edge of bed. Head feels like blood in tiny braincells has been replaced with Tabasco sauce. Radio makes no sense, even if strong enough to turn it on. Repentant and full of remorse even though no recollection of previous evening. First visit to toilet feels like a rectal prolapse. Piss looks like Co-Op limeade. Slightest movement causes waves of nausea. Swear never to do it again. Weak lager must be brought to bedside by sympathetic friend after first evening meal of soup and bread.

10/10 The Big One. Lying with head hung over edge of bed crying and yacking into a bucket. Painkillers have no effect since they can’t be kept down. Spinning and nausea. Praying and apologising to God, in between bouts of vomiting. Can’t sit up. Beg partner to enquire about hospice bed availability. First visit to toilet nothing happens since all solids left the body the previous evening. No recollection of anything at all, let alone previous evening. Well enough to drink again, but only Girlsberg lager, after 48 hours.